


Out of Touch

by solipsist



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Head trauma, extremely short, its angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solipsist/pseuds/solipsist
Summary: waylon park fucken dies and i like to think even tho jeremy is a total shitlord, his ma is just as involved in murkoffs activities. i mean look at jeremy. he screams homosexual homophobe with some serious issues with his ma.sorry for not posting this on thursday :pensive:i might be a good writer but i never know how to write a desc
Kudos: 3





	Out of Touch

He’s dying now. 

Waylon Park is alone. He’s gasping for air through smoke and blood. 

He could have died before. He came very close to it. He came very close to dying on a morphine trip. He came very close to dying when Eddie made him his wife. He came very close to dying on that basement floor, crying over a twisted ankle. But his body still persisted. His ghost did not give up. It’s all different now. 

His mouth opens. 

His mouth closes. 

Eddie felt the same, he guesses, when speared on those poles. When watching his own heart and guts drop to the floor. When grasping tightly onto Waylon’s hand, terrified to let go. Terrified to die. 

Waylon can’t really tell what he’s feeling right now. 

The pain in his stomach is dulled. And Waylon pulls out the shard of glass. No new pain, only a faint sensation of blood rushing out. 

Mrs. Blaire stands over him. Jeremy is more like his mother than he could ever imagine. Her face is blank and set (just like his), she holds the gun in her right (just like him), and she doesn’t say a word (just like he never did). 

Waylon raises a hand to his face. There’s an idea of self protection before: he’s dying. And his hand falls back down to the grass and blood - self protection translates into a lame wave. 

Like a child, he wants to ask if it will hurt. 

And like a child crying out to the darkness of their room, there is no response. Only the dreaded anticipation of the experience. 

His eyes close.

His eyes open. 

His brains splatter against tree and tire. 

It hurt for a second. 


End file.
